


Hit Me with Your Best Shot

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Basketball, Basketball, Benny Lafitte & Dean Winchester Friendship, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, College Student Castiel, College Student Sam, Cute Ending, Early Mornings, Guys Bein' Guys, Hanging Out, Humor, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Smart Castiel, Studying, With A Twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 04:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6455908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey, Cas,” Dean beckons. Cas peers up warily. “Yes, you, come here.”</p><p>Cas turns to Sam one last time, who’s just as lost as Cas. Cas plunges into the court, nearly tripping over a pebble in the process, before he’s face-to-face with Dean. “Yes?” </p><p>“You have time to play?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hit Me with Your Best Shot

 

Dean dribbles the ball past his burly opponents, corners the side of the basket, and clicks his wrists. The ball soars through the Kansas morning air like a wheat germ as time slows, forestalling the outcome. The ball hits the bank before licking the rim of the basket in a breaded-down meatball and cascades to the pavement.

Time’s restored to its original programming as Dean throws down a heavy sigh.

“Forget Compton, Dean-o,” Victor says from behind him, “You’re straight outta Detroit after the bankruptcy.”

In all his short-of-six-foot and packing for winter glory, Benny jogs up to him. “Hey, Chief, you good?”

Dean lifts his head, caramel hair dripping like a punctured juice box, to the sight of his baby brother and Cas entering the court. They’ve both got mountains of books and papers up to their necks, too furiously engaged in a conversation to notice the three men.

“Guys, you know the spa’s only a block away…”

“Ha-ha,” Sam’s the first to chime, plopping his ass on the bench facing them, “the library’s closed for testing.”

Dean purses his lips. “Aren’t you guys the ones that’re gonna be testing soon?”

“That’s what I said!” Sam exclaims, thumbing (or in Sam’s case, _clobbering)_ through the first few pages of his textbook. Cas does the same, masking a blush poking out from underneath his wide frames as Sam goes on to say, “I just can’t believe they didn’t even ask—are you wearing shorts?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “It’s a free court.”

“Yeah, but—”

“ _Peanut gallery.”_

Sam throws up his hands and tucks a stray hair spilling over his textbook behind his ear. “Okay, alright. No need to get your thong in a tighter wad than it already is.”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas says once his blush is contained, offering a shy smile, “We’re not even here.”

“Dean,” Benny prods, thrusting out the ball, “you wanna keep going?”

Dean responds by smacking the rubber out of his hands and cutting around him to get to the basket. Victor takes his backside, throwing up a hand on either side of him. Dean swivels behind him, Nike’s face-planting with a high-pitch _screech_ on the pavement. But Benny’s already there, snatching the ball like a New York mugger and passing it to Victor. Victor shoots. The ball sails effortlessly through the air: perfect swish.

Benny and Victor fist bump, which is what really sets Dean over the edge: “ _Really?”_

“Come on, man, you’re just not packin’ enough heat,” Victor says, cupping his shoulder.

Dean shrugs him off rudely, turning to look at Sam and Cas again. Sam’s cross-referencing something from Cas’s book judging by the way his pencil’s _X_ marking the spot like Christopher Columbus discovering “India”. Cas shakes his head at whatever Sam’s saying, pointing to the opposing page. Sam’s face lightens with a slow but sure parting of his mouth and Cas smiles brightly before detaching himself from Dean’s younger brother.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean beckons. Cas peers up warily. “Yes, _you,_ come here.”

Cas turns to Sam one last time, who’s just as lost as Cas. Cas plunges into the court, nearly tripping over a pebble in the process, before he’s face-to-face with Dean. “Yes?” he asks, voice equivalent to someone swishing mouthwash in the hollow of their throat.

“You have time to play?”

The sound of Victor snickering cuts into Cas’s answer like a butcher knife, “Dean, I know you’re itching to win, but don’t you think you’d have a better chance with Sam? I mean, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the guy’s taller than the Jolly Green Giant. No offense, Cas.”

“I’ll try not to cry myself to sleep tonight,” Cas mumbles.

“True, but Sammy’s a terrible shot,” replies Dean, stifling a grin at Cas’s statement. “No offense, little brother.”

Sam looks up from vigorous note-taking. “Hmm?”

“Victor, give the guy the occasion, alright?” Benny interrupts, turning to Cas, “He probably needs a break from all that college mumbo-jumbo, am I right?”

Cas looks to Benny, but it’s not until his gaze rests on Dean that he cracks the smallest of smiles. “Right.”

“Okay, Winchester, _”_ Victor says exasperatingly, bouncing the ball to Benny, “your funeral.”

Except, before it can get to the Cajun-bred man, Cas intercepts the ball and dribbles it over to Dean. Dean graciously accepts the gift and takes a shot. It _thumps_ against the bank, but falls perfectly into the basket.

Victor gapes just enough to catch pollen. “You got lucky,” he says.

“Guess we’ll just have to get lucky some more,” Dean retorts, tossing Cas a wink. Cas piggybacks his glasses further up his nose, forehead turning a deep scarlet.

Benny tosses in the ball this time. Victor snatches it and dribbles around Dean, but Dean maneuvers around him, swiping the ball from his left and chucking it over his shoulder like a handful of salt. Cas catches it from behind, then shoots just over Benny’s head.

This shot’s slightly slipperier, but eventually falls through the basket.

Cas is more careful on the five-pointer. The ball slides in with a Hollywood-worthy _swish._

“Holy shit, Cas,” Victor chuckles, throwing out his hand, “You can be my wingman anytime.”

Cas accepts the gesture with a firm shake. The guy didn’t even break a sweat; the long, tanned bone of his arm is cleaner than a baby’s backside. “I don’t understand that reference, but thank you, Victor,” he replies before turning to Dean with a fat, gummy smile, “but I don’t think I’ll need one for a long while.”

“Good game,” Benny says, pulling a flushed Dean into a side hug. “See ya around, brotha. You too, Cas!”

Cas waves a small goodbye, but neither men can see as they walk away, leaning hard enough on the other to break one another. Dean chuckles short-windedly with the shake of his head. He sees Cas striding towards him when he turns around before throwing himself onto Dean the way a carcass slops against a lion’s chops. “Whoa,” he gasps, planting his hands firmly on Cas’s sides and hugging back. “What’s this for?”

Cas pulls back shrugging as a brown curl falls loose. “For being the best boyfriend in the world.”

“You _knew_ you’d hustle their asses, Mr. Honors Math.”

“Yeah, but you gave me a chance to prove I _could.”_ Dean giggles as Cas’s hands skate underneath his shorts to the very tender, very _bare_ ass hiding there. His eyes are packed like a blue blow pop, just waiting to give someone a sugar rush—someone like Dean. “And if these shorts don’t give you momentum…”

Dean squints. “Are we still talking about basketball?”

“Do you wanna find out?”

“Oh my _God,_ ” Sam groans from the bench loud enough to stir a few birds, “you two are killing me here!”

Cas’s hands slip out from Dean’s shorts to circle his chest. “He’s right. We need someplace more private.”

“What do you have in mind?” Dean asks, tracing the jut in Cas’s hipbone with his right hand.

Cas’s grin nearly splits his face in half: “How about the library?”

 

 

 


End file.
